teasing to please
by wellthatdepends
Summary: a man can only handle so much sweet, sweet torture [AU / bethyl smut week]


**a/n:** my second offering to the smut gods. this one was fun. a bit ooc, but fun. title taken from a song of the same name by Cute Is What We Aim For (remember them?) anyway, enjoy. xx

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"Holy _shit_."

Daryl glances up from his bike. Martinez is openly leering, his eyes following what looks to be a blonde blur on a horse.

She comes to a halt near them, dismounts smoothly, ponytail swaying, pale skin flushed. Tight jeans covering legs that go on for days and an ass that he'd describe as a perfect handful. Walking the horse back towards the stables, she flashes them a smile.

"Hiya boys."

Martinez grins right back, tipping her trucker cap.

Watching her walk away, Daryl can't help but shake his head.

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Don't you recognise her?" Martinez smirks, "That's little Beth Greene."

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So Beth Greene went to college for four years and in that time, she got hot.

It's not a new story. Don't know why he's supposed to act surprised.

Okay, sure, she's got those fuck me eyes and hair like fucking _silk_. Her ass is _perfection_ and her tits are small, but they're enough.

Especially when the girl doesn't wear a bra.

But she's the boss's daughter. This, he needs to keep reminding himself of. She's Hershel Greene's daughter and he's not about to cross a man like Hershel Greene. He's not about to write his own death certificate and hand the man the fucking pen.

But little Beth Greene ain't so little anymore.

And he just can't shake that fact.

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Damn girl has a sweet tooth and it's driving him _crazy_.

Spends all her time at the farm, getting underfoot, not that any of the guys mind. Rides her horse and swims in the pond and as the summer gets warmer her shorts get shorter and whoever invented crop tops can burn in hell alongside the guy who invented rocket pops. Because that girl has him imagining all kinds of sinful scenarios.

(On his bike, in the barn, on her knees. Oh, on her knees, lips around his…)

 _Stop it._

If he has to watch that girl slurp and lick and _suck_ one more damn ice block, he's going to have to throw _himself_ in the pond.

A man can only handle so much sweet, sweet torture.

 **.**

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When Merle got him a job at Hershel Greene's farm, he assumed it was just that: a farm. Cleaning stalls, mending fences, feeding animals. Honest to goodness manual labour.

Knowing Merle, he should have realised that the job would be anything _but_ honest _._

It turns out that a farm is a good cover for gun running. No one questions big shipments of 'farming equipment', just as no one questions rough looking farmhands. Hershel Greene's been doing this long enough to know how not to get caught. Man has a veterinarian licence and everything, but Daryl knows that his supply of tranquillisers are very rarely used on animals.

(The things a man will reveal when pumped full of horse drugs is frankly quite astounding.)

Hershel runs a good game because he's not a fool. He's a smart guy, with a smarter wife and children poised to take over the reins whenever necessary.

And Daryl? Well, he's just a foot soldier trying to go by unnoticed.

 **.**

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"Need you to do me a favour, Daryl."

Glancing up from his current task – fixing a fence, as it would have it – Daryl nods for the older man to continue.

"Otis tipped me off to some… _unsavoury_ folk in area as of late," Hershel reveals, and Daryl's not surprised.

Of course the man has enemies. You can't be in his business and not have racked up a few.

"Maggie and Shawn, they can look after themselves," Hershel continues, casually, "Bethy, well, I worry about her. I'd like you to keep an eye on her. But be subtle; that girl can be a spitfire if she finds out I've assigned her a babysitter."

Shit. Like he's got a choice in the matter.

"Yeah, sure," Daryl mumbles and Hershel gives him a small smile.

"Don't let her think she's the boss of you," he chuckles, "Greene women are stubborn. This might be the hardest job you ever do."

He can believe that. A part of him wishes he was transporting guns instead.

 **.**

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It becomes quite apparent, several days in, that Beth Greene is well aware of what he's doing.

He went from purposefully ignoring her, to always being in within sight. She's not stupid.

Which makes sense that she uses that to her advantage.

On day three her car breaks down. A car that was working perfectly the week before. She then _demands_ that he take her to town on his bike, and he's absolutely certain that she's worn tiny denim shorts and a tight tank top just to kill him. Or so he'd run them off the road and kill them both.

In town, he's essentially her lackey. Running various errands, picking up her mail, returning library books, all while she gets her nails done.

Fuck. He'd rather be doing _actual_ farm work.

She tells him to meet him at the diner, that it'll be her _treat_ for all his hard work. When she slides into the booth opposite him, she's all flirty smiles and musical laughter.

"Like?" she asks, holding her nails out for him to inspect. He's never really looked at a woman's nails before. Never given a shit about length or colour or shape.

But these? Red and long; the kind he imagines leaving marks on his skin. The kind he imagines slowly stroking his cock. The kind he imagines digging into his scalp as she screams his name.

"S'alright," he shrugs, and he tries to ignore the way she pouts slightly, turning her gaze abruptly to the menu in front of her.

"You know what you want?" she questions, glancing up at him.

"A coke is fine," he replies.

"They make the best milkshakes here," she grins, "they're, like, loaded with extra toppings. _So_ good!"

He grunts in reply.

"Or a coke's fine, I get it," Beth sighs, flagging down the waitress, ordering his simple drink and her more elaborate choice.

She drums her nails on the table, glances around the room. She doesn't try to make conversation, of which he is grateful. But she does cross her legs. He knows this because he can feel her foot slowly brush his leg in the process.

The drinks arrive just in time, and he raises an eyebrow at the sugary concoction in front of her. A simple strawberry milkshake, it is not. There's whipped cream and jelly candies and white chocolate shavings. There's even a mini doughnut, topped with a strawberry and the whole thing makes his teeth hurt.

"No swaps," she teases, plucking the doughnut from where it sits around the straw, "but you can have the doughnut."

He can't remember the last time he had one. It's been so long ago and felt so inconsequential, that this tiny, miniature dessert feels epic in proportion. From the soft fried dough to the sugary strawberry icing, it hits his senses like a freight train, a rush not unlike that of a drug.

"Good, huh?" she smirks, and wraps her lips around the strawberry, taking a slow, purposeful bite.

 _Fuck_.

With her nails, she picks the candies off her drink, popping them in her mouth, one by one. Sucks out some of the liquid, mouth tight around the straw before frowning, glancing down at the drink.

"I think one of the chocolate pieces is stuck."

Plucking the straw from her drink, she captures the droplets on her tongue, before licking the cream from around the outside. In and out, up and down, he's utterly mesmerised by the tip of her tongue, as she works the straw like it were a cock. And fuck him if she doesn't know exactly what she's doing when she raises the bottom of the straw to her lips, and with a bit of pressure, starts to suck. To the casual passerby, one may think it is a simple attempt to dislodge the contents, but he know that this is really just some kind of elaborate plan to drive him insane.

"I need a smoke," he says abruptly, shoving himself out of the booth and making a beeline for outside.

It's pure relief when that first hit of nicotine fills his lungs. He's half hard, but with every breath, he feels his nerves calming and his heart rate slowing down. Maybe if he's out here long enough, she'll get bored and want to go home.

Maybe if he's out here long enough, he won't end up doing something that he'll later regret.

 _Maybe_.

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"Look, I paid the bill, we can leave if you want."

He'd guess it's maybe fifteen minutes since he practically ran out of the diner. Rather than pissed, she appears kind of bemused, watching him from the alley entrance while he finishes his fifth smoke.

"Don't want my daddy to worry."

His head shoots up.

"You know?"

"Of course I know," Beth rolls her eyes, "Mama warned me to be careful. Daddy's the one who thinks I need a security detail 24/7. I mean, I didn't mind you watching me, but I'd rather you watching me because you _wanted_ to, not because you were assigned to."

Daryl shrugs noncommittally.

"It wasn't all bad."

"Yeah?" she grins, walking slowly towards him, the sway in her hips exaggerated, "Which part? The part where my clothes got more revealing? Or when I was wrapped around you on your bike?"

"Girl…"

"I'm sick of playing games, Daryl. I'm too old to play games."

She in front of him now, eyes dark, bottom lip between her teeth.

"Can't do this, Beth."

"Why?" she scoffs, "Because of my daddy? Because of what he does? He doesn't have to know, Daryl, no one has to know."

"What, so I'm your dirty little secret," he snarls, stepping away.

She barks a laugh.

"Or I could be yours."

 _Yours_. The implications are endless.

In one quick move, he pushes her up against the building wall. His actions aren't gentle, and by the way her pupils dilate, she doesn't want them to be. His cigarette is still dangling from his fingertips and she smoothly plucks it from his fingers, inhaling deeply before dropping it at her feet, exhaling with a practiced ease.

She tastes like strawberries and sugar and cigarettes, and fuck if that combination doesn't make him weak at the knees. Arms on either side of her head, he kisses her into the wall, skull bouncing off the brick and she moans at the sensation. _Pleasure and pain_ and her eyes are black with lust as she matches his passion, battling to gain the upper hand.

"I want you on your knees," she breathes, her long nails tracing the seam of his lips. He parts them; wrapping them around her finger, tongue swirling around the nail. She moans, low and loud and she throws her head back, making contact with the brick with another solid _crack_.

"I want you to fuck me with your mouth."

He barks a laugh.

"Anyone tell you you want too much?"

"Anyone tell you that I get what I want?"

 _Little Beth Greene._ Yeah, he believes that.

He's not about to deny her. Not when he wants a taste of her hot little cunt as well. So he lowers himself to his knees, takes her zipper in his hands and tugs it down sharply. Drags the shorts down her smooth, shapely legs, taking her panties with him also, until she's bare in front of him. Smooth, too, and he rubs his palm against her pussy mound, teasing her clit with his fingers. She's practically dripping, and he licks his lips at the sight.

"Bet you taste like strawberries, girl," he growls, tracing patterns on the inside of her thighs, "bet there ain't no part of you that ain't sweet."

"Why don't you find out?" she says through gritted teeth, eyes fluttering closed, hands forming fists at her side.

Trailing his fingers up, he finds her clit, rubbing in circular motions, the speed gradually increasing. He gets this, this is the easy part. It's not hard to know what she wants, with her mouth opening slightly and her breathing quickening, and her eyes flicking open to reveal her lust drunk gaze. Replaces his fingers with his tongue - slow, deep licks that might lack finesse but hit that spot that has her cursing his name aloud.

"Fuck, fuck, Daryl, oh _fuck_."

Small hands gripping his hair, she eagerly rides his face while he continues his assault on her cunt with his tongue. Laps at her juices, relishing the salty-sweet taste. Licks and sucks like he's been watching her do all summer long. That she's been doing on purpose. That she's been doing as a lead up to this very moment.

His head between her thighs and her sweet, singsong voice demanding that he _just make her fucking come, already_.

And when she does come, she is a quivering, dripping _mess_ , whimpering and sobbing and chanting his name like a mantra. She slumps against the wall, eyelids hooded, a lazy smile on her face, hands brushing sweaty strands of hair away from her face.

"That was amazing," she hums, pressing her lips to his, a lustful kiss of want and need and desire, as if she's trying to get a taste for herself.

Her hands, no longer idle, trail down his abdomen, resting on the buckle of his belt.

"I don't fuck in alleys," she whispers, dainty fingers pulling the belt loose, "and I certainly don't get on my knees next dumpsters." One hand reaches into his pants, ghosting over his fully formed, barely concealed erection.

"But you were good. You were _so good_ Daryl, that you definitely deserve some kind of reward."

She pulls him loose from the tight confines of his trousers. Spits on her hand, and fuck, if that ain't the dirtiest, hottest thing he's ever seen. With a coy smile, she wraps her hand fully around his cock, giving him a couple of gentle tugs, that has him jumping at the sensation. Runs her finger over the tip, gathering the leaking pre-come, and bringing her hand to her mouth, stealing her own taste.

"Jesus Christ, Beth," he groans, resting his head on her shoulder, hand fisting her tank top.

"You like that?" she breathes, nails dragging lighting over his shaft, from base to tip, the light pressure enough for him to buck into her hand, "of course you do."

Gripping him, she pumps her hand up and down, reaching up on her tip toes, meeting him in a bruising kiss, stealing his breath, his mind, every semblance of self control. The heat, the pressure, the friction she creates is like fucking _heaven_ and when he comes, he comes _hard_ , spurting strings of come all over her hands, her shirt covered stomach. He slumps against her, struggling to catch his breath.

"I don't fuck in alleys," she repeats, grabbing his rag from his back pocket, wiping her hand, and then dabbing at her shirt (not without leaving behind an obvious stain), "barns however…"

 _Her daddy has a barn._

"Can't get caught, girl," he tells her seriously, and smirks as she does up her shorts and presses a kiss to his cheek, smoothly stepping past him.

"We won't!"

 _Oh god._ It's going to be one hell of a summer.

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End file.
